


Dammed

by hannapalooza



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Fighting, M/M, Masturbation, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannapalooza/pseuds/hannapalooza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the Life in 1973 ficathon 2009 for candesgirl. </p><p>Prompt: Sam/Gene, UST, Gene is jealous in a confused, in character sort of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dammed

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to hans_fics on LJ on 26.10.2009
> 
> Concrit always welcome.

Gene was in a foul mood as he stepped out of the lift, ill fitting shirt itching against his sweaty neck and feeling oddly naked without his camel hair. Not to mention lopsided - sometimes he thought birds had the right idea carrying a bag about because the constant thud of his hipflask against his thigh was driving him nuts. And there, waving his arse about like some desperate rent boy was the object of his intense irritation: Sam poncey-arsed, smarmy git, smart alec, pain in the ball sack, Tyler, surrounded as usual by half the women's department, all swooning and none from the oppressive heat.

 

With a growl that scattered the girls like bowling pins in his wake, Gene approached Sam from the side, fisting a hand in his polyester shirt and tugging so hard Sam's heels lifted from the concrete, the slick material yanked upwards from the force, exposing delicate skin, glowing with sweat, ridges of taut arched spine disappearing under garish stripes distorted into demented wriggles by Gene's fist. Fixing his eyes firmly ahead, Gene frog-marched across the space and dragged Sam through the door into the office, Sam struggling and swearing the entire way, ranting the usual guff about brutality and Neanderthal’s that Gene was getting sick of hearing. With momentum and balance on his side Gene sent Sam headfirst through the inner door, stepping smartly through and letting it swing shut behind him. 

 

"Enough," he commanded, dropping his hand, the muscles cramping as he released his vicious hold. He grabbeda cigarette and keptr his eyes averted from the sounds of Sam rearranging his dishevelled clothes and grumbling under his breath like some disapproving middle class spinster.

 

Turning and leaning against his desk, cigarette clamped firmly between lips and teeth, he caught Sam's eye in the instant his face creased with what Gene could only characterise as a blend of horror and pain, as with a steady whoosh the precarious pile of paperwork (no doubt fastidiously alphabetised and cross referenced by Detective Inspector Anally Retentive himself) slid off his desk and scattered haphazardly across the length of the floor. Tyler bent reflexively to snatch at the few papers that fluttered past him, casting a withering glare at his superior officer, who sincerely couldn't help the smirk that marked his features.

 

"I'm getting sick of your little performances, Tyler." He had aimed to be at least a little bit calmer before chewing him a new arsehole, but the heat and Tyler’s insufferable presence combined to drive him at breakneck speed to boiling point. White knuckling the desk to keep his fists in check he continued “We’ve got three unsolved murders that are getting colder by the second and you’re out there swanning about flirting with the plonks! Get your head out your arse and your mind out of the gutter: we’ve got work to do.”

 

“So says our esteemed leader who spent most of the morning in the Arms if the smell of you is anything to go by.”

 

Gene was on his feet and across the room in seconds, his earlier resolution to not knock seven shades of shit out of Sam swiftly forgotten as he grabbed him by the collar of his open shirt, fingers grazing skin. The shock of the unintentionally intimate touch reminded him of just how dangerous it was to get close to Tyler at the moment. He pushed backwards; releasing his hands and watching Sam stumble off balance into the filing cabinet, pleased with the efficiency of the manoeuvre as Sam grunted in pain on impact. Keeping his distance he pointed a finger accusingly at Sam’s chest.

 

“Don’t you dare question me or my methods again Tyler. Just do as you’re bloody well told for once, and if I catch a plonk up here again you’re suspended you hear me?”

 

“What?!” Sam’s voice was high pitched with incredulity, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair. Gene knew it was a monumentally stupid thing he’d just said, but there was no way he was taking it back now. He walked swiftly across the room determined to exit before Sam called him on the ridiculous threat, but sometimes he was just too fast for Gene. Before he could leave, Sam was there in front of the door, arms folded, scowling at him.

 

“Get out of my way” It was said through gritted teeth, and Gene could feel the muscle in his cheek twitching with suppressed aggression.

 

“Make me.” It was a direct challenge, spat at him; Tyler’s eyes flashing in that predatory way that made Gene uncomfortably aware of how dangerous his crazy DI could appear when cornered. Fool that he was, Gene stepped back; a move which only made Sam grin, shark sharp and ruthless. Gene’s heart was beating too fast; adrenaline coursing through his body in pulsing waves, every nerve screaming at him to take hold of what was in front of him and kill or kiss or choke or caress, just do _something._ His hands were round Sam’s throat in an instant, thumbs snug against his windpipe, the chaotic rhythm of a frightened heartbeat thudding against sweat slick palms as he pressed and pressed, the heat of Sam’s skin addictive under his hands, that goddamn pretty boy mouth open and gasping soundless syllables.

 

Sam was fighting, skinny fingers gripping his wrists and tugging, body twisting trying to break Gene’s punishing grip. Their hips collided as Sam writhed, hot fleeting pressure against him until a Cuban heel landed with sickening force on his foot, the loafers affording him no protection as Sam stamped, leaning his weight over to the side, grinding his heel downwards. The pain was excruciating, and Gene howled, staggering backwards and over balancing, almost landing on his arse on the floor as he reflexively grabbed at his injured foot. Stumbling to the edge of the desk he raised his eyes to Sam, the sound of harsh panting overwhelming in the quiet room as they stared at each other. Gene’s eyes strayed to the collar of Sam’s shirt where his thumb prints were clearly visible delineated in red against a pale throat.

 

Abruptly, Sam turned and left the room; heels clicking crisply away, the door swinging quietly shut as Gene dropped his throbbing foot and blindly grabbed a cigarette. His office felt suddenly too small, too quiet, too hot, and too full of Sam bloody Tyler. Walk devoid of his usual swagger, Gene limped through CID, out into the main corridor and paused, cigarette dangling unattended from his lip, before crossing swiftly to the Gent’s bathroom and heading to a stall.

 

Dropping the cigarette into the bowl, Gene swiftly unbuckled and took his cock in his hand, still half hard and throbbing in time with his foot. He squeezed his eyes shut as he gripped himself roughly, desperate to just get this over with and hoping this time would be enough to get Tyler out of his system once and for all. Sam’s face swam before him: mouth open; lips shiny and wet, begging incoherently for something that Gene didn’t want to give; lashes fanned across pale cheeks as he tilted his head back, the long line of his throat mottled with a ring of deep purple bruises. Gene bit his lip, stroking faster, painfully hard now as a delicate hand appeared in his vision, tending to the injuries on Sam’s neck with gentle touches, Sam’s face becoming relaxed and peaceful under the hands patient ministrations. Trying to banish the sight, Gene opened his eyes, the dull gray door of the cubicle appearing before him as he almost throttled his cock in a desperate attempt to finish. As his pleasure grew his eyes fluttered closed and there was Sam and those graceful hands again, a dark blur coalescing into Annie’s adoring face, leaning closely and kissing _his_ Sam with sweet abandon. He came at that moment, spurting hard and fast over one hand and rearing backwards, his other fist shooting forward and connecting with the flimsy plywood door, the entire frame shaking from the force of impact.

 

Legs turning weak from the force of his orgasm, Gene sagged back onto the toilet, the pain in his foot returning with a vengeance, pulsing in counterpoint to his bloodied knuckles. He felt weak, sick to his stomach and disgusted with himself as he perfunctorily wiped his fingers clean and leaned back staring at the ceiling trying to organise his thoughts. The sharp metal snick of a toilet lock opening startled him from his reverie, followed by the unmistakable sound of Cuban heels on cracked concrete striding swiftly away.

 


End file.
